


Labyrinth

by Fabrisse



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-19
Updated: 2010-08-19
Packaged: 2017-10-11 04:21:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/108319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fabrisse/pseuds/Fabrisse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Diana Reid's many conversations.</p><p>Prompt: 11 -- a maze @ the Livejournal community Story_Lottery</p>
            </blockquote>





	Labyrinth

She was preparing her notes for class when a tall man in his late twenties came up to her. Diana didn't quite hear what he said until he mentioned her son, Spencer.

She smiled up at him, brightly, "I expect he'll be home from school soon. Are you one of his teachers?"

A shadow passed over the young man's face. Then he smiled and said, "I don't work at his school, but yes, you could say I'm one of his teachers."

Diana thought about it for a moment. "What have you taught him?"

The man leaned forward and pulled a coin from her ear. "All sorts of things."

"Spencer loved learning magic tricks. He kept trying to explain to me the biological principles of sleight of hand -- how our eyes are fooled. You gave him a real gift."

"You did, too, Mom."

"I hate being called ma'am. I'm Diana."

He sat on the grass beside her chair. "Diana."

***   
Diana Reid loved this spot. She wrote for hours in her journal and read her letters sitting here. A man leaning on an elegant walking stick stood in her light.

"I was working," she said sharply.

"I'm sorry." He stepped back. "How are you?"

"I'm well. Do I know you?"

He took a deep breath. "I'm Spencer."

Diana glared at him. "I can't read you Spencer's letters. The last time I did, people got hurt."

"I know." He eased himself into a chair near hers. "Perhaps I could read something to you?"

There was a speculative look on her face. "A Gest of Robyn Hode. It always sounds better in a male voice, though it would probably be considered sexist for me to say so in a classroom."

He closed his eyes for a moment, then began, "Lythe and listin, gentilmen, That be of frebore blode, I shall you tel of a gode yeman, His name was Robyn Hode..."

***  
"You were at my lecture last week," she said to the man in the chair next to her.

"Which one was it?"

"'The problems of language in the works of the Pearl poet.'"

He nodded. "I loved that lecture -- the idea that English could be so different today if it had evolved from those works instead of Chaucer's dialect."

Diana turned to him. "I'm not certain English could have gone differently. The courts, and Chaucer was above all a court poet, were more important than literature _per se_. Still, it's interesting speculation. If language leads social understanding, would having a different language make us different people."

There was a broad smile from the young man who said, "Language changes the hard-wiring of the brain. Of course, so do things like hormones, but language is an external and the body's chemicals are internal. It's fascinating"

"My son Spencer is fascinated by things like that, too."

"So you mentioned."

***   
"I don't need more medication. My son hasn't written to me in a week. He always writes. Something terrible must have happened if I haven't had a letter." Diana glared at the new doctor.

"I'm not here to give you medication. It's Spencer. I came to see you. That's why I haven't written."

"Don't be ridiculous. Spencer's in Washington, DC. The government took him. They take everything." She turned on her heel and walked out.

***

Diana Reid looked at the tall man walking toward her. "Spencer." Her face lit up and then, "Why do you need a cane?"

He bent over and kissed her cheek. "I was shot about two months ago. It's taking awhile to heal."

She shook her head. "Your job is too dangerous."

"I can't think of a job that doesn't have some danger, even if it's only from the commute."

Diana looked skeptical. "I think carrying a gun and having them pointed at you might hold more danger than commuting."

"I could quote you statistics," Reid said as he eased himself into a chair. "Most law enforcement agents never draw a gun in the line of duty."

"When were you ever average?" she said, dryly.

"I'm your son. How could I be average with such an extraordinary Mom?"

Diana took his hand. "I'm sorry you were hurt. And even if I don't like what you do, I am glad you have a job you love. Now then, tell me about your adventures."


End file.
